


all is calm

by RonnieSilverlake



Series: Meteor Shower [4]
Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Holidays, Love, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He thinks there have been better times, but he may be wrong.</i> Rin's twenty-first Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all is calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4amtomorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4amtomorning/gifts).



> written for my best friend and soulmate for Christmas. please keep in mind that this is heavily based on our roleplay together, which has almost two full years' worth of solid character development, so i suppose it could count as a future!au; sorry for the things that may be confusing because of that.

_It’s_ _ **so**_ _like them_ , Rin thinks, and he is closer to losing his temper than he has been in years. He already has his flames out and about, and each of his stifled curses is a small spring of flame shooting out at a minuscule target. Angry is one thing, but he doubts he could feel more humiliated, and, at the same time, as a rather odd addition to his mixture of hurt feelings,  _humbled_.

After all, it’s not like the job itself is a particularly bad one. He has complained enough about how he dislikes slaying demons like Naberii, things that explode in his face and leave behind a trail of rot and decay. Some of the smell never really gets out of his work coats, even though it’s only detectable to his own inhumanly keen sense of smell, but that’s enough. This, at least, is nothing like that; clean, as clean as his flames can get. Still, it’s also a little too easy, and it causes a mixture of antagonistic feelings in him, relief mingled with furious shame.  _Coal tars? Really? Couldn’t someone else take care of this?_

But, then again, he knows the answer for that. The answer is always the same, after all. With  _him_ , that is. Ever since Samael stood up for Rin, back then, for the first time, the Order has known to keep a certain distance from openly accusing Rin of  _things_ , but they don’t really need to. They can use the pettiest excuses, like him turning in paperwork a day late, or taking some unnecessary risk (which he isn’t doing lately as much as he used to, but the perception of necessity obviously isn’t the same as the viewpoint changes between him and his superiors). In the end, though, it’s always back to the same thing: him being what he is, being sired by whom he was sired by. Perhaps it would irk him a little less if they were trying to control him because they were  _afraid_ , but alas, the way he is treated is more close to reflecting something akin to  _dismay_ , contempt, and even if Rin hates to be feared, he hates being looked down on even more, because that has an element of vulnerability to it that he can’t fight.

Rin doesn’t like things he can’t fight.

(Maybe it’s part of the reason why he doesn’t like himself.)

He can fight coal tars, though; even if that’s kind of an understatement (can? He doesn’t break a sweat, obviously), ultimately, it’s true. And focusing on the task in front of him instead of allowing himself to be swallowed up by bitter thoughts is something he has always been good at.  _Empty your head. They don’t matter. None of them matter. They can think whatever they want. You’re here, now, and you have something to do in order to get what you want, so do it._

What Rin really wants right now — the reason why he’s so frustrated and upset — is to  **go home**. Why it frustrates him so much that he can’t yet? Because… it’s Christmas Eve. And here he is, in a retirement home, having been sent to investigate why all the elderly have been complaining of constantly having nightmares, only to find the place practically overflowing with the tiniest kin of Astaroth (he kind of wonders how nobody here has a mashou, but, then again, it’s nothing unheard of). He wishes he could at least remember their fatal verse, even though he’s not an Aria (and probably never will be, even though he still wants to outdo his old man — but they are simply made of different material, and Rin’s way to achieving greatness is rather different from that of his stepfather). Alas, all he has is flames — flames that he is at least in full control of now, being able to fry every one of the nasty little creatures with a shot of what looks like a thin blue thread shot from the tips of his pointy claws. The people living here have been ushered outside, despite the fact that they technically can’t see his flames, even if they can see his not-so-human features; it’s better to be safe, with all these grandpas and grandmas (and, who knows, perhaps some of them do have a spirit wound, they just keep quiet about it). It is this last thought that has the half-demon feeling some sort of humility. Although he knows that one day he’s going to outlive everyone he loves (and he sometimes gets goosebumps if he tries to imagine whether Samael feels ageless in some sort of way), for now, he is still all but two decades old, and the wisdom of people who have lived almost a hundred years is something that weighs. While he’s burning little round demons, trying his best to be mindful not to set anything else on fire, he thinks back to the amount of times he has called his father ‘old man’, teased him with age, and the thought is accompanied by a bittersweet smile.

If his father were still alive, he would be a grandfather in less than two months. He would turn sixty next year, so he would probably still think he is at his prime (the smile becomes a little less bitter, a little more sweet at such a thought), so there is no way he would have ever ended up at a retirement home such as this. Although Rin likes to imagine him in some thirty years into the future, sitting in a rocking chair in a room such as this one, next to the almost up to the ceiling tall Christmas tree, a blanket across his knees, and holding the midnight mass of the 24th to his peers that can’t be expected to walk out into the cold and attend a church at their age. Rin sometimes finds himself wishing he listened to more of what his father said in his sermons when he was younger, even though he knows Fujimoto never held his lack of attention against him. He couldn’t sit still for five minutes as a kid. He hopes his son isn’t going to inherit that. There are enough bad things he can inherit from him. (He knows Shiemi would chide him for that thought, and that makes him smile again.)

There is a coal tar that somehow seems to be craftier than its companions, Rin notices. He didn’t realize it while there was still a mass of them everywhere; he didn’t need to aim before shooting, wherever he hit, there would be a demon anyways. Now that the cloud thinned, however, he can spot the minuscule thing continuously flicking around the room, seemingly conjuring up one of its mates whenever Rin aims at it to hide behind. Eventually, it disappears behind the tall tree, and the half-demon, caught up in the moment, has to consciously stop himself from charging after it blindly.

He gets it in the end without major harm, but one of the blue baubles still slides off one of the branches, and shatters on the floor. It’s like he’s watching it fall in slow motion. He wants to grasp after it, and knows he’d be successful, but with the awkward position he is in, his swordcase would end up knocking another three off in the process, and that would be rather counter-productive. He freezes standing in between the branches, two or three of the remaining (apparently really dumb, compared to their companion Rin just finished off) coal tars flitting around his head (they always liked sticking close to him, ever since he began seeing them, and perhaps even before —  _idiots_ ), and watches the orb fall. It’s a deep night-sky blue, much like the blues of the sky this month that Rin has witnessed, a sprinkle of silver decorative coating spattered across the shiny surface. There is an inexplicable, dull ache in Rin’s chest that spreads when the piece of decoration finally breaks, and while he quickly finishes burning the rest of the demon infection away, he thinks of the Christmas when Izumi had bought a handful of colourless glass baubles from a merchant in the market nearby, and they spent most of the day of Christmas Eve painting them various colours, and then hanging them out to dry. (Rin of course broke one and made his hand bleed in the first three minutes, and Yukio somehow got silver paint into the Reverend’s beard, but aside from that, he remembers it was loads of fun.) He thinks he would like to do it someday with Shiemi and Junou. (Maybe he could even convince Yukio to join in on the fun.) There are still so many things about Christmas that he wants to show his wife, and, by extension, his child as well — but that’s what makes life interesting, having things to look forward to. It’s not like he can teach her in a week what he has been learning for fifteen years (and still doesn’t really know perfectly, probably never will).

Rin opens two windows and leans out of one. He can’t have the room smell of sulphur. The cold hits him in the face like a wall, and he inhales deeply, feeling a strange sense of quietude spread in him. The sky is already pitch black, and the street is littered with colourful little decoration lights, spread among the regular street lamps, that reflect in his eyes as he gazes at them. One of the workers of the retirement home is standing on the pavement below in ankle-deep snow, waving up at him. Rin laughs to himself, and waves back. Hopefully, they don’t expect him to do the paperwork tonight. Then again, even if they do, it’s not like he cares.

He assures the nurses that the nightmares will not return. There has to be at least one with a mashou among them, because they take his words at face value, and everyone seems to be relieved when they reenter the sitting room with the Christmas tree in the corner. Rin’s face flushes a little as he sees out of the corner of his eyes that one of the workers is sweeping up the broken bauble into her palm, and turns an even deeper shade of scarlet when she catches his eye, smiles at him, and discreetly leaves the room to throw it away, but fortunately, as he is standing in a circle of elderly women who all want to thank him for doing a ‘charm’ for them, nobody seems to question it. And soon thereafter he is finally free to leave — and leave he does, almost in a sprint, back to the familiar, cozy quiet of his own home, although a tiny part of him regrets to leave behind the excited noise of the crowd that reminds him of times long past.

Though there is no way in Gehenna that he would even allow himself to  _think_ of paperwork at this point, there is still a small detour to his office that he has to make — more precisely, to the small fridge of the main office that he borrowed the corner of. As he enters the room at Headquarters, a small, unbiased part of him is a little ashamed at thinking his superiors handpicked him to be the only one working on Christmas Eve. Of course, he isn’t; there is always something to be done at an organization such as the Order of True Cross, and on holidays where the majority of Exorcists take their leave, those without families stay behind to hold the fort. Rin supposes this is how hospitals function too, and he also remembers the Christmas he spent on his own, because  _Yukio_ had work, and Rin would have felt bad for accepting any of their friends’ invitations, not wanting his brother to have to return to a completely empty dormitory (even if he’d ultimately fallen asleep before his twin made it home, but at least he’d baked the two of them a cake). Yukio is not here tonight, though, and that’s enough to make the Knight feel more at ease. He hopes the tiny note of  _'touch this and you shall burn in Hell'_  was enough to keep nosy colleagues’ hands off the cake he is now intent on taking home; a surprise for Shiemi as a means to make it up to her that he couldn’t stay with her all day long. Thankfully, the cake is intact, and one of the female Doctors, one of the very few who have treated Rin’s injuries before (willingly, that is), even laughs a bit, startling Rin in the process, as he takes the plate out of the communal fridge. “I knew that had to be yours, Okumura-kun,” she says with a wink, and Rin is so not used to being addressed so kindly, that he stuffs the small note into one of his pockets with a small huff, and doesn’t even complain at the honorific. She likes to tease him, this woman, and Rin usually thinks he’s somewhat grown out of being addressed like that, but it’s still a welcome change in comparison to the attitude of most, and despite the fact that they are the same rank, she is about twice as old as he is, so he usually lets her anyway. “Merry Christmas,” she calls after him as he shoves the key to the Exorcist shop into one of the office doors’ keyhole, and he reciprocates the gesture without thinking, completely missing the surprised looks from the few other people scattered around the room.

There are nothing but the Christmas lights on throughout the house. It makes an unfamiliar weight settle onto Rin’s chest, but it is not a bad feeling — just one of serenity. Rin has never liked sharp, white lights, especially not when the darkness itself seems to be soft outside, what with everything coated in a sparkling blanket of snow, and a homelike silence. (It might be because he sees well in the dark too anyways, but he never gave it a lot of thought, to be honest.) He remembers the odd look he got from Shiemi’s mother when he went out and bought a handful of dim yellow lightbulbs two weeks ago, and changed the lights of all of their living space, leaving out only the Exorcist shop, and the light outside that lit the stone steps leading down to the garden, for he wouldn’t have wanted either of the women to trip on their way. She didn’t object, though, nor reprimand — Rin was pleasantly surprised when in the end, her only comment was about how the house looked like it was already decorated. Now, it really is; there are various colours on strings hung up in the corridor and around the living room walls, none of the regular lamps lit, and, along with the knowledge that (unless something  _really_ dire happens) he really has the next couple of days off, Rin literally feels like he is walking into the holiday season.

The cake is left on the kitchen table for after he greeted his wife, and then he starts into the living room. Shiemi is sprawled on the couch comfortably — for a second, he thinks he sees her curled up, the way she likes to sit, with a blanket around her shoulders, when he isn’t home to keep her company, but he knows it all too well that in her current state, it would be impossible for her to assume such a pose —, her legs propped up on a small pouffe, and she smiles at him so warmly that he is glad he isn’t holding the cake still, because he can feel his limbs go weak. It would be a feat for her to spring to her feet to greet him, but he doesn’t hesitate to accommodate her, stripping out of his long jacket and swordcase on his way, and then leaning down to wrap his arms around her waist while she clings to his neck, his tail following suit soon afterwards, and he wonders if she, too, has been baking in secret, because there’s a lingering taste of cinnamon to her that he doesn’t usually associate with the gentle Tamer. “Your nose is so cold,” she shivers a little, but playfulness is glinting in her eyes, and Rin is eternally grateful that she doesn’t hold his reluctant absence against him. Perhaps she still misses work a little bit, and, then again, it’s not like she is as immersed in this traditional Christian holiday as he is, but he likes to think he got her enough in the mood.

"I’ve got something for you." They say it at the same time, and Rin cannot help the giddy laugh that escapes his throat. Shiemi’s giggle is a reflection of his own cheer, and although he can barely hold back the familiar sense of excitement bubbling up in him (he’s not  _that_ grown-up, after all), he still takes the time to kiss her silly before asking anything, and then to murmur against her lips (not that he really, truly minds), “I thought we agreed not to get each other anything…” A little disappointing, but they agreed on it out of practicality; with a baby on its way, they are intent on saving every possible yen. “You still did,” Shiemi reminds him, and for a brief second, he wonders if she knew all along, and there is no surprise to be had, but the eagerness in her eyes indicates otherwise, and he knows her well enough to realize she is merely pointing out the fact that he has no grounds on which to reprimand her. “That doesn’t count!” he defends himself valiantly, though his blush matches hers, if not outdoes it (it’s hard to tell with the lights so comfortably dim). “I made it myself!”

"Then mine doesn’t count either," the blonde presses her lips against his cheek, "because it’s just… a thought, really." Rin is unsure of how literally she means that, but in this moment, he is utterly and completely lost in how ethereal her smile makes her look, in how her stomach curves under his gently pressing fingers, in how he unabashedly presses his face into the crook of her neck and purrs as her fingers wind themselves into the tuft of his tail in a motion known too well, and it takes palpable effort for him to resurface again, whisk his tail out of reach, then bring it back only to tickle the tip of her nose with it, and say, "It’s going to melt if you don’t stop distracting me." And the way her eyes light up, it makes him warmer than the apple cider Shura made him drink last Christmas. (For the record, he didn’t drink enough for it to have an effect on his flames, and it didn’t taste enough like alcohol for him to regret it; something that pleased his mentor — for some odd reason, no doubt — more than the gift she’d gotten from him.) "I’ll get mine, then, while you bring it in," Shiemi says with a quiet kind of complacence, and while that eliminates one question about whether her gift is of the material sort, Rin is once again questioning whether she is more excited about getting his gift, or giving her own.

The cake hasn’t melted, probably because he placed it close enough to the window. (They should probably upgrade their insulation a little, but that is the last of his concerns right now.) He lingers a while, knowing she needs more time to move around now, and he knows they would both rather have her wait a little for him than him ruin her surprise.

And surprise it is. Rin arrives back with the cake on a plate in one hand, two smaller plates, forks, and a knife in the other, to a living room much lighter than the one he left — but this light, he doesn’t mind. She has plugged in the lights on the tree now, which is significant enough to coat the room in more colours and more visibility — but that’s not all there is to it.

She’s put sparklers on it, and lit them. She is just finishing holding the match underneath the last one, jumping back a little in surprise when the sparkler lights up at the same time the match’s flame licks at his finger. She drops it on the floor by accident; it has extinguished by the time it reaches the parquet (she has rolled up the tatami around the tree; a wise precaution) and it takes Rin all but three seconds to put everything down on the coffee table, and pull her into his arms, pressing his lips against the spot on her fingertip where she’s burnt herself, and she relaxes in his hold fully, as if there is nowhere in the entire world she would feel safer than in his arms, and as Rin stares at the sparklers above her head, that particular thought makes him choke up a little bit.

They meet Yukio and Shura at midnight mass. Nobody from around the neighborhood really remembers them anymore, and they don’t really mind. Shura resolutely settles herself in the last row, seemingly uncomfortable, and Rin feels especially odd about it, because it should be him feeling out of place, since they are at a church, but in fact, this is the only church in the world that he is still comfortable going to. Then again, maybe her discomfort is about the turtleneck she is wearing. It’s a violent shade of red, and clashes horridly with her hair, but it’s below freezing outside, and her wardrobe probably doesn’t contain a huge variety of concealing pieces.

The one speaking at the front is mostly Nagatomo, although the other three take short turns as well. Rin tries his best to pay attention, and he can sense more than he can see that on his right, Yukio is hanging on their words as well, but he’s always done that, even when they were kids. Rin wonders if there is any resemblance in this to Fujimoto’s sermons; the four of them were, after all, taught by the Reverend. Yukio would probably be the good person to ask about that, but Rin still decides against it, and just continues listening, his attention only wavering on occasion, when he looks at Shiemi by his side, wrapped up in a particularly thick scarf, and one of his uniform coats as well as a sweater underneath (in lieu of anything else in the household that was both thick enough to keep her warm, and big enough for her to button up), or when he glances to the other side of Yukio to see Shura staring at the high ceiling, shivering slightly, mouthing silent words, and the half-demon wonders if she is wishing her own mentor Merry Christmas. (There is no point asking her, she would definitely deny it, even if she is.) Izumi’s eyes catch Rin’s gaze at one point, and in spite of himself, Rin can feel his face growing slightly hot, but the youngest of the priests is talking about love and acceptance of all that belong in this world, his words unfaltering, and the softness of his gaze would be impossible to miss for someone with eyesight as sharp as the half-demon’s, and the feeling of being slightly out of place after all just vanishes as if it wasn’t there in the first place.

Shiemi wants to walk a little bit, so they don’t use the key home this time. Shura hooks her arm into the blonde’s and whisks her away towards the train station, and Rin falls back alongside his brother. The silence they share tells more than words could. Rin has worked later into the night than right now is, yet he feels a heavy tiredness descend on him, making his limbs feel like they’ve gained weight. Yukio allows him to lean on him without a word, and — surprise — he’s the one initiating that they, too, link arms. It’s just the tiniest bit uncomfortable when Yukio stuffs his hands into his pockets, and Rin tries to do the same, only to discover that his arms are nowhere near elastic enough for such a feat, and his twin brother snorts with laughter at the attempt, but the Knight merely shrugs, giving the other a sheepish look, and decides he’d much rather stay linked with the other; the cold doesn’t bother him much anyway, he’s like a living furnace on the inside. Yukio smiles to himself just a little too knowingly, and Rin, who barely catches it from the corner of his eyes, tackles him right there in the middle of the street, not bothering to care about the various looks he is getting from the churchgoers wandering home nearby. Yukio is still taller than him, so it’s not at all difficult to hide his face in his brother’s scarf, and he’s glad when he feels him relax a moment later. Somewhere behind his back, he can hear Shiemi giggle a bit, and Shura exclaims something about not having given him any cider this year, but all he cares about in this particular moment is the sheer fact that for the first time in what seems to be an eternity (what was it? A decade? Thirteen years?), it really feels like everything is okay between himself and his twin brother, and it’s Christmas, and Rin has always had trouble putting his feelings into coherent words when he was feeling emotional, even though this time it’s utter happiness. Nevertheless, the hug does the trick anyway, because Yukio hugs him back a couple of seconds later, and the way he laughs, as if he, too, is actually, really happy, makes even the way his gun holster is pressing painfully into Rin’s hip totally worth it.

By the time they get off the train, Shiemi looks so sleepy that Rin has half a heart to just scoop her up into his arms (he can’t quite carry her on his back now). In the end, though, he only takes her hand, which she grasps just a little harder than usual after she slips on a bit of ice and has to grab onto the front of his coat, clutching him for dear life until he can help her back onto her feet properly. Shura is shivering so much that Yukio ends up giving her his coat, even though he only wears a long-sleeved shirt underneath, warding off Shiemi’s worries with how they are only a couple of blocks away from where they live. Rin watches them walk up the stairs to the main door of their apartment complex five minutes later with the pleasant cozy feeling expanding further in his chest, and then he picks up his wife anyway, no protests taken into account. But then, there aren’t any; she nestles against him as if she was made to be there, and he has already walked five more blocks towards the True Cross campus by the time he realizes that they can go home from literally anywhere.

The sparklers had gone out by the time they left for church, but the house still smells like it did when Shiemi lit them. Rin likes the smell of burnt things that are meant to be burnt; not his own flames, and not overcooked food, but fireplaces, coal or wood, it doesn’t matter — and sparklers, too, especially because they’ve always only burnt them on Christmas Eve. As if on cue, he recalls the look Shiemi shared at Yukio when they arrived at Southern Cross, and he thinks he knows where she’d gotten the idea from.

She can’t reach far enough even when she’s sitting down, so he unties her shoelaces for her, then helps her get out of all the extra layers she put on before leaving, and it feels like unwrapping a gift (even without the naughty implications). He still thinks her presence in his life itself is enough of a present for all future Christmases they will spend together, but he knows she would call him silly if he were to share such a thought. He conveys it in kisses instead, half an hour later, when they’ve already finished the leftovers of the cake, blew out the candles on the wreath, switched off the lights (except for the ones outside), and covered themselves in their heap of soon-to-be-warm blankets. Her feet are cold enough to make his hair stand on end when he assumes its usual position, wrapped around her calf, but he doesn’t pout when she bursts into giggles, only tugs her a little closer.

It doesn’t really matter, what he is. At times like this — and Rin likes to think that these are the most important times, the  _out of the ordinary_ ones —, it really doesn’t. Sometimes, it feels impossible to imagine that he can really be happy again (like the time Yukio spent in Rome), but the opposite of that is true as well; sometimes, it’s hard to imagine what it once felt like to be unhappy. And he could, of course, once again go down the lane of questioning whether he deserves this or not, but at the end of such a day, where even the bad things turned out to be good, the bigger part of him just laughs at himself in silence, and tells the pessimistic part to shut up.

Then he falls asleep, curled around his wife, his nose buried in her hair at the top of her head. He doesn’t dream, and that’s the best about it, because no nightmares can come near him when he’s feeling like this, and there is nothing else to dream about that would be better than reality.


End file.
